Nasrin Sobhan

I had never met the couple or their parents before, nor did I think I would again, thankfully. This is a new world in many ways, and I find that there are more and more young people like this.

The evening draws in quickly. At one moment the late afternoon sun is there, mellow orange against the sky, and the next minute it is almost twilight, and time for me to leave my rooftop plants and flowers, and return to my flat. As I take a last stroll around the jasmine, an aroma of warm ghee floats up from some nearby kitchen, and soon after, a long-forgotten and much loved familiar fragrance—the smell of curried chicken—as it was cooked in my mother's kitchen in olden days.

Every week, in some magazine or the other, there are enthusiastic pieces on some new miracle diet promising to transform us into our dream figures in a matter of weeks, or days even! There are dramatic pictures of 'before and after' and promises of a gorgeous new shape if we eat only bananas, or green peas, or whatever the latest studies claim will have said magical results.

The Young at Heart Someone else, not foreign and also past forty, said the opposite, which was that older people should put aside all

The streets of Dhaka being what they are, one has time to just look around and observe things from the car while waiting at traffic lights or while stuck in jams: hugely battered buses driven by what look like twelve-year old boys high on cough syrup; cheap cars; costly cars; and people going about their daily business.

I also liked doing housework, truthfully! In my mind the bending, lifting, cleaning and mopping made up for my reluctance to go to the gym. I even found washing dishes therapeutic, and I would find myself humming while I soaped and rinsed, admiring the rose sprigs on my saucers, or the blue border of a much-loved tea cup.

The months have flown by, and so did December, one of the loveliest months of the year. There is a crisp feel to the air, and the winter flowers have begun to show their blooms — dahlias, roses and all the other delicate flowers that cannot blossom in the heat.

We had arrived in Cairo on our first posting, and the Ambassador and family had come to tea. I had baked strawberry cake from what was supposed to be a full proof cake mix.

I feel the pleasures of the eye before everything else. Someone glides past in a shaded sari flowing from grey to flame orange, I see a figure in exquisite embroidered powder blue, a vision in mint green chiffon, and suddenly flash of brilliant red lipstick.

It is morning. I know it is because I feel someone tugging at my sleeve. I open my eyes and see two little faces gazing at me. Grandson #1 says "Nanee wake up. It's time for the battle to begin."

I love tea. Any time is perfect time for a cup, preferably with nan khatai, or chocolate fudge cake, ginger biscuits, carrot halwa, or simply on its own — first thing in the morning, in the afternoon, or whenever I feel like it.

Krondoshi Pothocharini by Atul Prasad is one of my very favorite songs and always strikes a certain chord in my heart.

Sometimes in late afternoons I take a book, a chair, and a cup of tea to the roof, hoping to sit and read among the plants and the flowers of the rooftop garden.

I wake early. When I hear the call of the muezzin and the first soft sounds of birds chirping, I go to my window to see the sun rise.

Dhaka weather is so beautiful, cool and fresh at this time of the year. It is the perfect season to sit in the garden or on a terrace, sipping tea and gazing at flowers. On these evenings, I enjoy watching the sky change from the palest blue to violet to pink, as the sun begins to set and the moon appears.

It is morning in Dhaka, a beautiful sunny day, as always. I enjoy the view from my window while I wait for my tea.

One of the most entertaining books I have read, many years ago, was by Lawrence Durrell, called 'Esprit de Corps'. It was all about the more hilarious characters and incidents that are a part of diplomatic life.

Most film buffs and people of a certain generation will remember "Splendour in the Grass", starring Natalie Wood and Warren Beatty.